


Hurting

by Tristin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gunshot Wounds, Hurt John, Hurt John Watson, M/M, Scared Sherlock, john gets shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:19:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6396142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tristin/pseuds/Tristin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John get's shot, Sherlock does his best, though we all know sometimes he could have done better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurting

There’s really only one time John’s getting shot at, and that’s when he’s on a case with Sherlock. Thankfully, most criminals who own guns don’t know how to aim, so he’s never actually shot, but there’s a reason poker players don’t step away from the table when they’re losing. They know that eventually they have to win.

John knew that eventually someone would get lucky and hit him, though when it happened it wasn’t how he thought it would; he’d assumed it would be by a grown adult, but this was a twelve year old boy shooting at him, with surprisingly good aim. Maybe not so surprising, he was in a high stakes gang, everyone needed a gun and they needed to know how to shoot it.

This boy definitely knew how to shoot it; John was dodging bullets left and right all the while trying to cover Sherlock, the lunatic chasing after the trigger happy preteen.

Sherlock and John have different viewpoints on why John comes along on cases. To Sherlock, John comes because he is helpful. He talks to families, he stops people from downright bullying Sherlock, he provides a unique view on the world which sometimes helps to solve cases, and he shoots like a sniper. To John, he goes because he needs to protect Sherlock. When Sherlock jumps, he jumps with him, it’s as simple as that. Which is why when John saw George the gunman take aim at Sherlock he didn’t think before he jumped in front of him.

George’s aim hadn’t failed and would have hit his target had something not blocked it. The bullet hit John in the chest, just below his left shoulder, about five inches from his last bullet wound.

Sherlock heard the gunshot followed not shortly after by a gasp of pain and a lot of weight collapsing on him. “John?” He asked as he shifted the weight off of himself and gently laid it on the ground. “John! You idiot! Why would you do that?!” Sherlock shouted, putting pressure on the wound.

John was gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, clutching onto Sherlock’s arm and hoping to not pass out. “Was goin’ to shoot you.”

“Then you let him shoot me! You don’t jump in front of me!” He pressed down harder as he spoke causing John to vocalize his agony as electric bolts shot through his chest and dissolved through his entire body.

“Sh..erlock. Sto..p. Just call...999,” he gasped out.

“It’s already been done,” Sherlock said, clenching his gut so the feeling of panic and worry would stop bubbling inside to explode. He had to save that for when John wasn’t hurting. John was hurting, his gut told him. He could hear the sirens, he looked up to find that George had ran while Sherlock was distracted.

John was losing a lot of blood, noticeable not only by the amount pooling at Sherlock’s knees, but also in John’s pale skin. He was shivering but also sweating, going into shock perhaps; Sherlock pressed his knee to the wound to keep pressure on it while he took off his jacket to lay on him. His eyes were going glassy and having trouble staying open.

“John! Do not close your eyes. You are not tired,” he demanded, slapping the side of his face. John blinked awake for a bit, but soon after was drifting again, much to Sherlock’s panic.

The sounds of footsteps echoed through the building as police and EMTs stormed in.

“John just stay awake for one more minute, the medics are here. I swear to God John, if you close your eyes one more time I’m going to dump acid on your bed and you’ll be sleeping on the couch for a month!” Sherlock’s voice trembled with fear as John disobeyed him.

He was suddenly shoved to the side as medics surrounded John. He let himself be relieved for one second, which seemed to cue to the bubbles inside him to burst. He was shaking when Greg found him and pulled him out of the way.

“He’s allergic to codeine, he’s blood type O negative, his family has a history of blood clots,” Sherlock listed facts he hadn’t even known he knew.

“It’s alright, they have his records, they know, Sherlock. He’s in excellent hands,” Greg comforted as he urged Sherlock to sit. “Will someone get me a blanket!” Sherlock was still shaking and breathing heavily, his heart beating overtime.

He didn’t look away as John was blinded with flashlights in his eyes and poked with needles, he resisted to urge to remind them he’s allergic to codeine, they know, he didn’t look away as they loaded him onto a board and wheeled him into the ambulance.

 

John woke up to machines and doctors, though only one person held his interest and he was holding his hand. Once Sherlock noticed John was awake the mask slipped off his face and John could see pure relief and sadness; he tried pulling his hand out of John’s but one grip from John stopped him.

“You know you’re a dick under pressure,” John mumbled.

Sherlock laughed, tears nearly forming in his eyes. “Yeah, well you’re bed has been destroyed so you’ll be sleeping downstairs until you get another.”  
John laughed this time and Sherlock grinned, and when John went home after his stay at the hospital no one said anything when John woke up in Sherlock’s bed after not being able to stand the couch any longer.


End file.
